Fate: How About a New Savior?

The first crank-operated machine gun capable of continuous fire was invented by American inventor Richard Gatling in 1862. Yet here, on the

The first crank-operated machine gun capable of continuous fire was invented by American inventor Richard Gatling in 1862.

Yet here, on the North American continent in 1783, such weapons were already being wielded by soldiers resembling militiamen—dressed like the Continental Army of the original Thirteen Colonies.

Just that alone was enough for Shiomi to recognize how distorted this Singularity was. Firearms nearly eighty years ahead of their time were already being used in this era.

But that wasn't the most disturbing part. Despite wielding weapons that should be deadly to people of this period, the soldiers using them were cowering behind cover, letting out panicked screams.

"Why?! Why aren't they doing anything?!"

Their cries weren't surprising. Warriors wielding cold weapons were charging straight at their positions, and even under a barrage of bullets, it was as if the attackers were shielded by bunkers—the gunfire merely kicked up dust, without drawing a single drop of blood.

"Are human bodies really that tough? Not everyone's like Dad..." Caren ducked behind a rock, enhancing her vision with Magecraft to observe the battlefield.

Perched on a treetop, Shiomi nearly lost his balance. "Even I'd get hurt without Magecraft defenses if I got shot..."

"Is that so? What a shame." Caren sighed. "With no fear of physical damage, those warriors with cold weapons clearly dominate this battlefield."

"Yeah..." Shiomi, used to Caren's remarks, didn't argue. "Judging by the situation, those warriors have undergone significant Magecraft enhancement. Not only are their bodies tough, but they've likely been stripped of emotion—reduced to pure war machines."

"You can tell just from watching them?" Caren asked.

"If you've seen enough battlefields, you can read it in their movements." Shiomi stood up. "Besides, this is a one-sided slaughter. Those armored warriors with cold weapons... their style looks Celtic..."

As he analyzed their armor, a chill ran through Shiomi's heart.

Celts shouldn't be here. Which meant—was their leader a Servant of Celtic origin?

If that's the case...

"What should we do? Sit back and watch, or help the locals who are about to be wiped out?" Caren asked again. "Personally, I'd rather save the soldiers getting massacred."

On one side were warriors who shouldn't exist—possibly from the Age of Myths. On the other were those who may have originally lived in this Singularity.

"You really got through to me, Caren." Shiomi smiled wryly and stood. "I forgot the duty I carry because of personal feelings."

A core part of repairing a Singularity was ensuring that its people didn't die due to its existence.

Otherwise, once the Singularity's foundation was restored, and the Quantum Time-Lock conducted the "Human Order Calculation," these people wouldn't come back.

The dead wouldn't return. The world would simply "correct" itself to a version understandable to those who survived.

And since this was the final year of the American Revolutionary War, any who died would be considered casualties of war.

Letting people who could have survived die here wouldn't necessarily disrupt Human Order. Another Magus might have simply watched, waiting for the leaders—or rather, the Servants—of both sides to show themselves.

After all, no matter how many died, once the Singularity was fixed, the Quantum Time-Lock would patch the loss by other means. History would still proceed toward America's eventual rise to prosperity.

Losses and gains in human history always balance out. That is the "Human Order Calculation."

But Shiomi couldn't accept that. He was never the kind to ignore death.

And neither could Caren—she had been by Shiomi's side since infancy.

"I'll head into the battlefield. Caren, find a good route—" Shiomi turned around mid-sentence, only to see that Caren had already equipped the Mystic Code "Never Miss."

It was a pair of hand crossbows Shiomi had designed for her. Caren now handled dual-wielding them with ease.

"I'll move in along a secure route, providing cover fire. If both crossbows fail to injure them, I'll go into hiding and wait for you to clean up."

"My daughter really knows what to do," Shiomi said proudly.

"Even though everyone at Chaldea always jokes that you look younger than your daughter..." Caren muttered, "Sometimes, even I think the same."

"Let's just say we're all in our twenties and call it a day..."

With a helpless smile, Shiomi leapt from the several-meter-high cliff and charged toward the battlefield, while Caren quickly advanced along a nearby path.

...

In the brief time it took them to move, the strange Celtic warriors had already reached the Independence Army's defenses. They leapt to inhuman heights, their spears gleaming with murderous intent.

Despair gripped the soldiers. They didn't understand where these enemies came from. It had to be a nightmare.

The cold glint drew closer—just ten centimeters away from one soldier's face—then suddenly froze.

A spray of blood burst forth, splattering across the soldiers' uniforms.

The warrior was suspended in midair, his chest run through by a crimson spear.

Shiomi, gripping the spear with one hand, flung the impaled body into the oncoming warriors.

The red spear twirled through the air like a meteor, slashing through the Celtic soldiers. Their weapons shattered instantly, their bodies going limp.

Just as expected—they'd been reduced to puppets. Dolls who fought without will, acting only on orders.

Shiomi yanked his spear from a fallen warrior.

Behind him, rapid footsteps approached. Instinctively, Shiomi spun and thrust in a reverse strike.

But this time, it wasn't a Celtic warrior.

It was a woman in red, holding a revolver aimed squarely at Shiomi's head.

Both attacks halted in an instant. They stood locked in a standoff.

As long as Shiomi didn't strike, the woman wouldn't pull the trigger.

"You don't seem to be with them. And you just saved our soldiers. Who are you?" Her voice was calm, analytical.

"Master of Chaldea, here to investigate this Singularity. What's your true name, Berserker?" Shiomi introduced himself and asked in return.

"Berserker? What are you talking about? I'm a nurse. My name is Nightingale."

She clearly didn't understand his question—just offered her name plainly.